


heaven turns away as the skies come crashing down

by Laora



Category: Gundam 00
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Dylandy family angst, Gen, I had a headcanon about why Lockon wears gloves and I ran with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 16:16:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3984598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laora/pseuds/Laora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Lockon, why do you wear gloves all the time?” </p><p>Neil Dylandy smiles to the world with dead, dead eyes and only wishes he could tell them all the truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	heaven turns away as the skies come crashing down

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for Lockon's past and for Lyle's existence!
> 
> This fandom seems to be pretty dead lately, both around here and on FFn...anyone there? /echo
> 
> (Also how do tags work, do Lockon and Neil lead to the same place and do Lockon and Lyle? Idk I'll just put all three as tags)

.

.

It starts the day they all go to the mall to celebrate Amy’s birthday.

Lyle isn’t there, but that isn’t unusual; he often skips out on family functions to hang out with his friends. And while Neil isn’t ever happy about it, he recognizes that somehow, he’s part of the problem. As he does every other time, he lets it go.

Even Amy’s pleading couldn’t convince Lyle to come, this time; he hops on his bike, promises he’ll be home for her birthday dinner, and then takes off down the street, not once looking back. Lyle is fourteen years old and rebellious—but then, so is Neil, and that doesn’t mean he skips his sister’s birthday for something he could do any other day of the year.

(He hugs a teary Amy tight, promises to buy her an extra present at the mall, and curses his brother to high heaven for making their little sister cry.)

.

.

They’re in a clothing store, now—it’s bright and cheerful and _pink,_ and Neil is half-sure he’s going to go blind young because his eyes are starting to burn. Amy seems so excited about all of the clothes on sale, though, and even their father is humoring her, allowing her to hang dress after skirt after—whatever that is—on his arm to bring to the changing room later. Their mother is laughing, too, helping her pick out clothes and pulling down things that are out of Amy’s reach.

Neil has been delegated to bag duty—a couple other (thankfully, more sedate) clothing stores, that cheap jewelry store every girl he knows seems to love, and a large stuffed bear Amy insists he holds in his arms rather than stuff into a bag. He can’t complain, though, because he was the one who paid for it—even though his father insisted he could. _He_ bought the bear, because Amy’s face lit up immediately when she saw it, and when she hugged it against her chest it nearly engulfed her entire torso, and Neil knows true happiness when he sees it.

He spent two weeks’ allowance on that bear, but he doesn’t regret it for one moment.

But even with his patience stretched longer to humor his sister’s whims, he is a fourteen year old boy, and whatever manliness he’s earned thus far in school is threatening to be squelched by the sheer _girliness_ of this store. So he taps his mother’s shoulder to get her attention, smiles hopefully up at her, and asks whether he can go get a hot dog from that stand they saw out in front of the mall.

She laughs and rolls her eyes—“Boys,” but there is no admonition behind it—and readily takes the bags from his hands, setting the bear down gently on top of one.

“Be careful,” she warns, though, and he nods without thinking—after all, that’s the warning he and Lyle _always_ get when they go off somewhere without an adult. But he’s fourteenalready—and, after all, the borough they live in is close-knit and friendly. It’s not like anyone’s going to attack him in the ten minutes it takes to get a hot dog.

He grins in thanks to his mother, ruffles Amy’s hair (she squeaks in anger—she _hates_ it when he does that, and of course that’s why he continues), and waves cheerily to his father on his way out.

“You’re leaving me here _alone_?” he calls after him in mock horror, his eyes widening comically as he looks from Neil to the frankly terrifying mass of purple and pink laid over his arm. “Don’t take too long, all right? You and I will have to work together to save ourselves!”

All of them laugh heartily at that, and Neil waves again as he finally steps out into the mass of people in the main thoroughfare of the mall. He makes his way toward the front entrance quickly, trying to decide what type of hot dog he wants and how much money he has left to pay for it.

(And, if he can take a loan from his parents—forgo his next allowance or two—maybe he can get Amy that second gift he promised her this morning.)

After all, that’s what big brothers do—make their little sisters happy, at any cost.

.

.

There’s no line at the hot dog stand, and Neil walks up with a bright smile when he sees the pretty teenager behind the counter. She’s definitely older than him—way out of his league, as young as he is, with no facial hair to speak of—but that doesn’t mean he can’t flirt.

She smiles back just as widely, and Neil feels his confidence bolstered as he leans slightly on the counter, checking the sign above her head for the prices.

Excellent, he can get a chili cheese dog with change to spare—just what he was hoping for. (If only to lord it over Amy’s head—after all, he’d buy her one too if he could, but he’s an older brother, and poking fun is also in his job description.) “I’ll get a chili cheese dog, please,” he says, throwing the girl an even brighter smile as she punches in his order on the register. “No drink or side, I’ve gotta save money for my sister’s birthday present.”

“Oh?” she raises an eyebrow, clearly seeing through his rather transparent flirting techniques (he’ll have to work on that), but willing to play along. “How old is she?”

“Eleven today,” he grins, handing over the bills and shifting his wallet to catch the change. “Do you have any idea what to get eleven-year-old girls? I bought her the stuffed bear she wanted, but I wanted to get her something else, too!”

“That’s sweet of you,” she says, and her smile is warmer as she hands him the coins and turns to put the chili dog together. “Well, it’s been a while since I was eleven—“ Neil’s smile turns sheepish, but she hasn’t slapped him yet, or even looked annoyed, so he sees no reason to stop—“but I’d say chocolate is always a good bet for girls. Or, if she has her ears pierced, you could get her some nice earrings. It might make her feel like she’s really growing up, if you get her a more mature present like that.”

“Is this a suggestion just for my sister, or for girls in general?” Neil asks slyly (or at least he hopes so), his smile growing broader by the minute. Some girls at school have caught his eye—that dance is coming up in a couple of months, after all—and advice is always welcome. He hopes all girls are as receptive as this one is, especially pretty ones; with her blonde hair and rather nice—er—figure, he’d take her out to dinner in a heartbeat.

She laughs (it’s such a nice laugh, too) and turns, handing him the chili dog with a skeptical smile. “Well, it depends on the girl, of course.”

“So what do _you_ like?” Neil’s grin stays firmly in place, even as he could kick himself for being so forward. Even if it’s just for fun…

She snorts, raising an eyebrow at him as she replies, “That’s for my boyfriend to know, not you.”

“Right,” Neil says smartly, winking at her and straightening from the counter. “Well, if I ever need any advice, I’ll definitely call him up and ask.”

She laughs outright at that, crossing her arms as her eyes crinkle in a lovely way (and her chest looks even nicer like that, holy—) and she shakes her head. “You’ll have more luck with someone your age, I’m sure,” she assures him, gaze flickering behind him for a moment. Neil realizes a line must have formed while they’ve been talking, but isn’t willing to leave just yet. “When I was your age, the boys were blushing, stammering idiots. Just give it a little time.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he say, still smiling as he throws her a mock-salute. She laughs again just as a tall, middle-aged man coughs pointedly from behind Neil; he tosses an apologetic smile over his shoulder but quickly steps out of the way, waving at the girl as he hurries back toward the mall. Lyle will be so jealous—he flirted with a girl who looked like she might even be out of high school, made her _laugh,_ even, and—

The world explodes around him, and Neil Dylandy goes flying.

.

.

.

.

He doesn’t know where he is, or who he is, or what is happening—

His head is pounding and his eyes are burning—he reaches up to rub them only to see bloody palms and gritty fingers and wait, wasn’t he just holding a chili dog a moment ago?

Wasn’t he going to split it with Amy once he let her whine long enough?

(Where is his sister?)

.

.

He can’t see—his eyes are burning and it’s too hot too hot too hot and there is smoke everywhere and he can’t see _where is his family_

People are screaming, running, all around him, and he shuts his eyes because it hurts it hurts it _hurts_ he can’t get the smoke out of his eyes and

—and he needs to get back to his family and that awful store because he needs to escape with Dad and buy some chocolate for his sister, she loves the caramel-filled ones, that’ll more than make up for Lyle not coming today—

He needs to find his father and escape and find his sister and hug her because it’s her birthday, she’s eleven today, that’s very important it means she’s nearly grown up already but she still loved that teddy bear to death and

(why is it so hard to focus why can’t he think)

and, and they’re going to have dinner tonight, Mom is making Amy’s favorite because it’s her birthday so she’ll make spaghetti and those special meatballs they all love and Lyle had better come home for dinner or he’ll get a stern lecture and _why is it so hard to think_

He’s lying on the ground but knows he shouldn’t be, so he sits up and holds his head because it hurts but he can just take some painkillers when he gets back, it’ll be fine, Mom always carries some in her purse and—

and people are screaming why are people screaming where did all this smoke come from?

.

.

It’s clearing just a bit, just enough for him to see, and he peers forward, blinks away the water in his eyes from the smoke and the heat and tries to find out what everyone is running away from, what’s wrong, is someone hurt—

The mall should be in front of him and maybe the smoke is thicker than he thought because he doesn’t see a mall at all, only something that could be rubble could be construction material because aren’t they working on expanding the building? But—

But there should be a mall here, there should definitely be a building here but there isn’t, there _isn’t_ and there is fire, he can see too, jumping high high high up through the smoke, and that’s where the heat is coming from but why would someone build a bonfire in front of the mall why—

He doesn’t understand but wants his mother, wants his father, because surely they know what is happening and can make his headache go away and can bring him to a place where the air is clear and cool because he can’t breathe, he can hardly breathe for the smoke and the grit wafting through the air and through his nose and into his lungs and _why can’t he breathe what is happening_

He stumbles to his feet and makes his way forward, because the mall is that way and his parents and his sister are in the mall, in that store with the pink walls and the pink clothes and he needs to get back so Mom doesn’t have to carry all those bags herself, he can hold the bags and the bear and wait patiently until Amy is done picking out clothes because he’s her big brother and that’s what he’s there for, to make her happy and help and—

He’s walking toward the mall but it isn’t coming into view—maybe it’s the smoke or maybe it’s his head but he wasn’t that far away from the building before he was flying, and he thinks he should be there by now so why

_why_

The smoke is thicker here and he doesn’t understand, what is going on why is there so much smoke where did the fire come from where is his family—?

He reaches what should be the steps up to the front doors but when he looks up, peers through wavering vision and the mess in the air toward the entrance to this busy, crowded mall he sees only rubble, only stone and cement and brick and beams crumpled in on themselves, but why is the building—where is the mall?

_Where is his family?_

He stumbles forward desperately, because Amy is in there and Mom and Dad are in there and it’s so hot, _so hot_ but Amy hates the heat, hated every minute of the time they spent in Italy during that business trip because it was August and she wasn’t used to the high temperatures—but it’s so hot here, at least as bad as it was then and he should get her out and away, get her somewhere cooler and then maybe he can buy her that chocolate and make her feel better—

The mall is too quiet when he stumbles up the pile of wreckage, and still he does not understand, dazed eyes flitting around and expecting the main thoroughfare to appear from the smoke and his family to walk out of the store, his father weighed down with pink and purple bags and his mother carrying all the others that _he_ should be carrying and both of them ready to scold him for taking too long getting that hot dog, he spent too much time flirting with the pretty girl behind the counter, he should have come straight back—

But he didn’t and now he does not know where they are, where anyone is because not ten minutes ago the mall had hundreds of people busily making their way around, so where are they now, where—?

“A bomb!” There’s a voice behind him, high and wavering and terrified, but it’s all but white noise in his head because he needs to find his family—“ _the mall was bombed!_ ”

These words should mean something to him, he thinks, but understanding is beyond him right now as he leans down, intent on finding his sister and getting her somewhere cooler. They were—they were on the first floor, and he’s walked up quite a bit on the rubble, so he needs to dig down, she’s underneath this mess somewhere waiting patiently for her big brother to save her because that’s what he’s always promised to do—

But the debris is heavy, heavier than his skinny teenaged arms can lift, but he will not let that stop him—he _cannot,_ because he promised Dad he wouldn’t take long getting that hot dog and he needs to take those bags so Mom doesn’t have to carry them and he needs to give Amy a proper hug because earlier he only ruffled her hair which doesn’t count at all—

There’s something burning on his hands but he can’t stop, he can’t lift the bigger pieces but maybe he can lift the smaller ones and dig down and find his sister and his parents and they can go home, and Mom can put some ice on his hands and give him some painkillers for his head and Lyle will come home for dinner and he’ll scold his brother for not being at the mall to help him dig their family out—

His hands are on fire but he can’t stop looking, because Amy is waiting for him with that bear and those silly clothes and she wants to take his hand and drag him eagerly toward the next store and

Amy—

_Amy—_

There are arms around his waist and he struggles like a mad thing to break free, because don’t they understand he’s a big brother and he needs to find his sister and get her someplace they can breathe, because his chest hurts and his eyes sting and his hands are on fire but Amy is more important, she’s only eleven and fell in love with a stuffed bear and needs someone to protect her, and he’s that someone because he’s her older brother and

“You have to get away, there could be another,” a gruff voice says sharply, and he recognizes it vaguely from the hot dog line but doesn’t let up his struggles because he needs to save his family—he needs to—

“ _Amy!”_ he croaks through his parched and gritty throat, and the man’s arms jerk around him but do not let go.

“Son, I’m—I’m sure she’s fine, the officials will be here soon and they’ll find Amy and bring her to you, just _please_ come away—“

He screams out his denial and his anger, but he is only a skinny fourteen-year-old boy and the other is a grown man, and soon he has been lifted bodily off the rubble and is being carried down and away. He struggles, punches and scratches and bites at every inch of the man that he can reach but he is unrelenting, does not understand the duties of an older brother because—

because—

oh _god_

They are free of the worst of the smoke and now he can see, through his spinning, pounding head and his burning eyes that the mall is gone and the mall is on _fire_ but there were people in there what—how— _why_ —

There are flashing lights and sirens and the man carries him toward one of them, puts him down at last but Neil’s legs give out under him because _the mall is gone_ and where is Amy and where are his parents and—and—

“Let me see your head, hon.” A pale-faced woman in a military uniform is crouched before him, a brightly-colored squad car behind her. Her concerned face swims in and out of view as she slowly reaches up and prods at his head, but it hurts _all over_ and he winces at every touch. She retracts her hand with a frown, instead picking up an arm and looking at his hand carefully, the back and then the palm, and Neil has enough sense to recognize that something is very wrong but not enough sense to look away, and so when he looks at his hands he sees only charred, broken skin and blood and bone and _where are my hands why do they_

“He was trying to move the rubble,” the man from the hot dog line says distantly, though he’s surely close by, and Neil’s gaze snaps up from his mangled hands to see the man’s face ashen with both horror and dust, tear tracks pulling down his face from his eyes to the beard on his jaw. “He was screaming for someone named Amy and—and his parents—“

The woman’s face grows grim as she gently puts his hand down, saying quick, indecipherable words into her comm before turning to the two of them again. “Do you have any idea how many people were in the mall?”

But Neil only stares at her, because why is that important when three of the most important people in his life are waiting for him to rescue them? He tries to stand, but his legs won’t support him—he feels weak, boneless, _empty_ as her hand shoots out to provide support and pull him again to the ground. “You need to stay here,” she says, gentle but firm, and the pressure of her hand does not disappear from his arm. “We need to get you to the hospital as soon as we can.”

“Hundreds, at least,” the man beside him answers her question, his face grim. “It’s a Saturday afternoon, they probably planned this to cause the most damage—“

Neil flinches because on some level he recognizes that someone must have done this—the mall didn’t just collapse and then explode into flames on its own, but he cannot fathom why anyone would want to harm others—especially his parents and Amy, who have done nothing wrong in their entire lives and—and—

_why_

The woman’s face grows grimmer still, and she says something that sounds like _backup_ into her comm before turning again to Neil. “Can you tell me your name, hon?” she asks, and her voice is clearly as gentle as she can make it amidst the screaming all around them. “Do you have any other family in town that you can call?”

“Amy…” It’s the only thing he can think of, because it’s her birthday today and he’s supposed to be buying her chocolate like the pretty girl at the stand said, but this woman isn’t letting him go and isn’t letting him save his sister, and why—

The woman before him shares a glance with the man from the line, a full conversation happening before him that Neil can’t decipher right now. “We’ll find Amy and your parents very soon,” she says after a moment, focusing her attention back on him, “but first, is there anyone else you can call who wasn’t at the mall with you today?”

Neil blinks, because of course Lyle isn’t here—skipped out on his little sister’s birthday trip to hang out with his friends—and he nods slowly, still not quite understanding why this is relevant, because his _sister_ and his _parents_ are in there, he needs to save them—

“Do you have a phone?” Her voice breaks him out of his spiraling thoughts, and he nods a bit, reaching for his coat pocket before fire races up his arm and he cries out. “It’s okay,” she says immediately, sending a worried frown toward his hand before reaching herself for the pocket he attempted to open. “Just tell me who to dial, and I’ll hold the phone to your ear, all right?”

That seems like a ridiculous plan, but even the thought of holding something in his hands seems unbearable, and so he nods slowly again, and croaks “Lyle” at her questioning gaze. She sets it to voice-only mode and then holds the phone up to his ear, and he listens for second after agonizing second as it rings and rings and rings.

He doesn’t pick up.

He swallows thickly, because surely it’s just Lyle being Lyle and he’s avoiding talking to his stupid older brother, right? It’s not that something has happened to him, too, or—

_oh god, what if Mom and Dad are dead_

_what if Amy is dead_

_WHY ISN’T LYLE PICKING UP HIS PHONE_

“Do you want me to try again?” the policewoman asks gently once it goes to voicemail, and he nods immediately, because he doesn’t know where his parents are or where his sister is and surely if they were all right they would be here by now, worrying over his head and his hands and—

_where are they_

She holds the phone to his ear again but still his brother does not pick up; he stifles a sob as it clicks over to voicemail for a second time, and the woman’s face is concerned as she lets her arm drop. “You’re—you’re sure Lyle wasn’t in the mall?” she asks, very gently, and he nods vigorously before wincing at the throbbing in his head because Lyle was an awful older brother who skipped his sister’s birthday and he’s not at the mall, he’s _not_ —

But what if he changed his mind and decided to come after all?—what if he was there when—when the bomb—

_oh god, someone bombed the mall and Mom and Dad and Amy are inside_

The tears are sudden and unexpected, flowing harshly over his cheeks as he chokes on his sobs. The woman immediately takes a gentle hold of his shoulder and rubs it soothingly, but it does nothing for him because his parents and his sister could be dead and his brother isn’t answering his phone and _where is Lyle_ he has never needed his twin more than he has now and Lyle isn’t—he isn’t—

 _he can’t be dead_ because what will Neil do if he is?

“Let’s try him one more time,” the woman says bracingly, and hits redial before holding the phone up to her own ear, because Neil’s body is shaking so badly with sobs that it’s unlikely he’d be able to hear anything over the phone. But her face falls as the seconds tick by, and Neil knows the answer even before the phone drops from her ear—

Lyle isn’t there.

_oh god oh god oh god what if_

“Do you have any other numbers for him that you can try?” she asks, her thumb still rubbing soothing circles into his shoulder that do less than nothing to help. “Or is there anyone else you can call?”

He thinks—he has some of Lyle’s friends saved in his phone, but if they’re hanging out then they’re even less likely to pick up than Lyle. But who—who—

_he could be the only family he has left and he’s not picking up his damn phone_

But he—Lyle was going to the Hogans’ house, wasn’t he? And they—have an old-fashioned landline, so maybe if he calls then someone will pick up and he can ask—demand—to talk to Lyle—

He tells the policewoman this, and she scrolls through his contacts briefly before hitting the call button, and hesitates before holding the phone to Neil’s ear.

The call connects after two rings.

“Hogan residence, this is Bridget,” a cheerful voice says from the other end, and Neil could scream in relief because that’s the mother, she’ll know what to do, but—

but she’s a mother and what if Neil doesn’t have a mother anymore and oh, oh—

He lets out another sob no matter how hard he’s trying to contain them, and Mrs. Hogan’s voice is immediately concerned—“Who is this? Are you all right?”

“Neil—Dylandy,” he’s able to choke out between hiccoughing sobs, and he hears her take a sharp breath in before he continues, “Please, I need—to talk to Lyle…”

“Of course,” she says immediately, and Neil can hear her moving away from the phone hub, toward another part of the house. “What’s wrong, Neil? Is everything okay? Does he need to come home?”

“I need to talk to Lyle,” he says again, his voice cracking, and she hums, clearly worried, as sounds of boys laughing and video games come into focus in the background.

“Lyle—it’s your brother, he says he needs to speak with you.”

“Tell him I’m busy,” and that’s his brother’s voice, obviously irritated that Neil has interrupted their game. “I’ll call him back when we’re done.”

Neil stifles another sob, but Mrs. Hogan isn’t through—there’s a clear frown in her voice as she says, “Lyle— _Lyle Dylandy, you listen to me—_ your brother says he needs to talk with you, and he’s sobbing on the other end of this phone line, so you will speak to him now or God help me, I will disconnect that television.”

“He’s—?“

Lyle sounds more surprised than irritated now, and muted footsteps move closer to the phone before his brother’s voice finally says—“What is it? If this is about Amy, I already told you, I’ll be home for dinner—“

Oh, _god_ , he can’t do this. “You need—there—“

He can’t form coherent sentences, _he_ _can’t tell Lyle,_ because how is he supposed to say this, that their parents could be dead and their little sister could be dead and—

“Neil?” Lyle’s voice is rising in genuine worry, something Neil only rarely hears now, and he knows he has to hold it together enough for this. (He’s the older brother, after all.)

“—A bomb,” he’s able to choke out, and his head is throbbing so he closes his eyes against the world, against the worried face of this nameless policewoman who’s still holding the phone to his ear.

“ _What?”_

“Please, the mall—I only went outside to get some food but now it’s gone, you need to come, please—please—“

He chokes on the last words, but hopes his brother gets the message; after all, they’ve always managed to understand each other, better than most. He waits a few agonizing seconds, but then Lyle’s terrified voice comes over the line—

“I’ll leave right now, okay? Is—is everyone all right?”

He can only sob in answer, and then the line goes dead.

.

.

.

.

Lyle shows up less than ten minutes later, and the policewoman has not once left Neil’s side. He’s sweaty and out of breath from biking all the way here, but his face is ashen as he rushes along the sidewalk, his bike long forgotten at the police line a block away.

“Neil! _Neil!”_ and he looks up at the call, and yes, that’s his brother hurtling toward them, and the policewoman looks up and blinks once, twice, at the mirror image of the boy in her arms. “Neil, where are Mom and Dad and Amy—are you all right—?”

He falls to his knees, terror on his face that Neil has never before seen there, and goes to grasp his arm, glancing down at his hands. His face loses even more color, his gaze flickering quickly back up to his brother’s face, to his bloodshot and traumatized eyes.

“We’ll get your brother in an ambulance as soon as we can,” Neil hears the woman saying, and then the pressure on his shoulder is released as she levers herself up. “He likely has a concussion, and will need regeneration treatment for his hands, but he should be all right.”

“But—what about—“

Neil does not see what expression the woman is wearing, but Lyle falls silent, and she eventually walks away.

He can’t—he’s facing away from the mall, but the aftermath of the explosion is still clear in his mind—he can see the flames rising higher and higher, despite the firefighters that are here now, dousing the flames so that rescue and recovery teams ( _oh god so many people must be dead)_ can get to work—

He’s the older brother but he has no idea what to do, and his parent aren’t here and his head hurts and he’s crying and Lyle is here staring at him like he’s waiting for him to fix the entire world—

“I don’t know what to do,” he rasps, his wide eyes finally meeting his brother’s, and Lyle’s face crumples then, and he pulls Neil into an impossibly tight hug, barely allowing him to get his ruined hands out of the way as he lets out a wrenching sob into his shoulder.

Neither of them know what to do, now, and—

and what if Mom and Dad are dead what if Amy is dead _what will they do—_

.

.

.

.

Neil Dylandy screams his wretched grief to the sky, but amidst the noise of terrorism and its awful aftermath, no one takes the time to notice.

.

.

.

.

It’s been a week, and though not everyone who was in the mall has been accounted for, both of them know there is almost no chance that their family is still alive.

They’ve had extended family come through—their mother’s sister, in particular, lives only half an hour away, and has already offered to take them in, should the worst come to pass. But Neil—he doesn’t want to think about this at the moment.

In fact, he doesn’t want to think about anything at all.

He was diagnosed with a concussion from being flung back by the force of the explosion; his hands have been charred down to the bone, and he will need expensive regeneration treatment to heal them.

But they are a pair of fourteen year old boys, and while their parents have a small trust fund for them, it will need to last them through the next four years until they’ve finished school. After all, they can’t expect their aunt to pay for everything, and they can’t get full-time jobs until they’re finished with their schooling.

Regeneration treatment, in part, is not out of the question, and Neil has in fact already begun regrowing the muscles and nerves in his hands. But the full treatment, that will leave his hands better than new, with no blemishes at all…

He refuses it one day, when Lyle and their aunt are in the room with him, discussing options with the doctor, and Lyle turns to him incredulously.

“Did you not hear what he said? They’ll be—“

“Will they work?” Neil talks over him, looking instead to the doctor, who looks rather off-put but answers promptly—

“With physical therapy, yes, your hands will be restored to normal function. But Mr. Dylandy, they’ll be disfigured due to the extensive damage they sustained… And with the reduced expenses due to your situation, it isn’t that much more costly to have the cosmetic treatment done—“

“I don’t care,” he says, glaring at all three of them and daring them to argue. “We need to save as much money as we can, if…”

He chokes off, still unable to admit that their family is more than likely dead; he looks down at his lap, at heavily bandaged hands now sitting useless across his thighs. “I don’t care,” he repeats, and is horrified to hear his voice choke off.

Their aunt stands quickly, asking in an undertone to speak with the doctor outside; Lyle is still staring at his brother, clearly unsure of what to say. After all, though the two of them have perhaps been closer over the past week than they have since they were children, there is still a barrier between them— _I’m not good enough_ and _everyone prefers you_ wafts through the airspace like a poison, and in times like these, neither really knows what to say.

“You don’t have to do this,” Lyle says eventually, his own hands clenching his pant legs tightly as he stares down at his brother. “We could work part-time to make it up—it wouldn’t be that big of a deal—“

“It’s not worth it,” Neil cuts him off, still not looking at his brother as he speaks in a too-dead tone. “We—you deserve an education, not working to survive while going to school on the side.”

“And what about you?” Lyle demands, slamming his fist against his leg as his face contorts. “You’re—damnit, Neil, stop being so self-sacrificing! It’s not like it’s your fault they’re dead!”

The words hang heavy between them, and aside from the sharp flinch, Neil isn’t prepared to reply; Lyle eventually swears under his breath, shoving the chair back harshly as he gets to his feet.

“You’re ridiculous,” he mutters, stalking out of the room, and it is only then that Neil allows himself to crumble.

.

.

It happens the next evening: the dreaded visit from the military personnel in charge of the excavation.

What neither of them are expecting is the box carried by one of the men in his sharp AEU uniform.

The preliminaries—the condolences—telling them what they already know—it washes over Neil in a haze. They have positively confirmed that three bodies from the wreckage are their family members, the older man says, an awful expression of sympathy on his face. The funerals will be paid for by donations already pouring in from the public, so they will not be responsible for anything.

If his hands weren’t still bandaged and paining him beyond measure, Neil would stand up and punch both of them across their stupid, fake faces.

But then Lyle asks what’s in the box, cutting off whatever speech the military has prepared for the survivors, and the young man holding it hesitates, looking toward his superior, before lifting the lid. “Your sister was holding this. It’s not much, but we thought you might want to keep it, as…”

Neil blinks, sitting up a bit straighter as the man tilts the box forward so they can see inside. And—

_oh god_

It’s undeniably the bear he bought for her that afternoon—ripped nearly to pieces and with a few splatters of something horrifyingly dark along its back, but—

but—

Lyle only stares at it in confusion for a moment before turning to Neil, clearly about to wonder whether these men have lost their minds. But the pain he’s feeling must show on his face, because Lyle’s jaw shuts audibly, and after a moment, Neil explains—“I…I bought that for her for her birthday…”

His brother’s face drains of color, and when it’s obvious Neil isn’t going to say anything more, he gestures vaguely for the men to leave the box on the table, and they quickly retreat back into the hallway. “Neil…” his brother starts, but there’s really nothing to say—their sister is dead, their parents are dead, and all the military has to offer as condolences are funeral expenses and a bloody, shredded teddy bear.

Neil can’t find it in him to do anything but cry.

.

.

.

.

Neil is nineteen when he joins Celestial Being.

It’s a small, ragtag group right now (and only two Gundams have pilots, though Miss Sumeragi has assured them that Veda has had an eye on Kyrios’ pilot for months), and everyone dances around each other, unsure of what to say and how to act when their history and their lives are sworn to secrecy.

Neil—no, Lockon Stratos—finds he doesn’t mind this all that much.

Christina Sierra is only a few years younger than him, and outgoing and spirited in a way he imagines Amy would have been, should she have been allowed to reach her age. (He can’t think about it now, though. He _can’t,_ because he hasn’t cried over his family in years, and he’s not about to start now—not now when he finally has a chance to avenge them—)

Chris could be Amy’s older sister, and that means she’s got that same inquisitive drive that keeps her asking questions long after others have learned to shut up. So one day, when they’ve just finished a briefing and Lockon is preparing to work through a battle simulation with Tieria, she stops him on his way out and asks with narrowed eyes, “Why do you wear gloves all the time?”

He raises an eyebrow at the almost offended look on her face, and remembers suddenly how she drags the other female members on shopping trips whenever she can. For whatever reason, apparently, his clothing choices have terribly offended her fashion… _thing_ that all women seem to have.

(The last time he saw his family, Amy was cheerfully pulling out garish pink and purple outfits, and he questioned her sanity even as he laughed along and humored his little sister—)

“Because they look cool,” he says immediately, falling back on his default answer to the common question. He started wearing gloves soon after his regeneration treatment was complete; after all, even if he bears his ruined hands as silent penance for those he was unable to save, he doesn’t want to force others to look upon them as well…

They’re crooked and pockmarked and ugly to look at, and he sees no reason to let anyone else know unless absolutely necessary. It would only cause curiosity (which, here, of course, could never come to light) and pity, something Lockon got sick of long ago.

No, it’s better to lie—only reveal them when necessary, like when he asked Ian to adjust the throttles and controls of Dynames just a bit, in order to accommodate hands that start hurting a bit too much when used for too long—and let the others think he’s the happy-go-lucky guy he projects to the world.

(So far, apparently, he’s been doing a pretty good job.)

Christina doesn’t look happy with his answer at all, though; she crosses her arms over her chest and _glares._ “They look utterly ridiculous when you’re wearing a t-shirt,” she announces to the room at large—mainly, Lockon and Tieria, who is getting increasingly impatient by the door, waiting to go together down to the hangar. “We should go shopping for new clothes, next time we’re on the surface—I’m sure we could find you something that _actually_ looks cool.”

“I’m gonna have to pass,” he says, waving a hand as he floats toward Tieria, who looks moments away from an outburst. “I like my gloves just fine, and if anyone needs a wardrobe change, it’s this guy!” he gestures to his fellow meister, whose glare deepens and shifts from Chris to Lockon. “Seriously, a pink sweater? Where did you even _find_ that?”

Tieria glares some more and evidently decides such a question isn’t even worth his time; he only turns and floats down the hall. Lockon laughs after him, shoots a quick grin at Chris, and hurries after him; after all, a Tieria lecture is not one to undergo unless absolutely necessary.

He arrives in the hangar soon enough, grabbing his normal suit and stripping down to his underthings without shame—but leaving his gloves on, as usual. Ian only nods at him—“Let me know if they need any more adjustment, we’ve got a bit more leeway I haven’t used yet!”—but Tieria stares a moment too long with narrowed eyes as he pulls on his helmet.

“Don’t bother asking,” Lockon advises him, waving a hand in his general direction. “I don’t feel like sharing, and anyway, it’s supposed to be classified information, right?”

Tieria sniffs and looks away as Orange Haro floats toward Lockon with some generally happy beeping sounds. “I wasn’t _going_ to ask,” he says, but looks back toward Lockon as he says, “It doesn’t matter, so long as you’re able to perform your duties as a Gundam Meister.”

“I think I manage that just fine,” he says with a laugh, and pushes off toward the cockpit of Dynames, allowing his face to fall as soon as Tieria can’t see it anymore.

He can perform his duties as a Gundam Meister just fine, but he couldn’t have failed more in his duties as an older brother and a son.

.

.

.

.

Lyle Dylandy—no, Lockon Stratos—isn’t sure what he thinks of Celestial Being yet, but he supposes that at the very least, he’ll be able to leak some valuable information to Katharon regarding their defenses against the A-Laws.

The shorter, Middle Eastern man—Setsuna, he had called himself—shows him to the living quarters on the Ptolemaios, where they each get their own separate room. Sparsely furnished, Setsuna explains in what seems to be his signature monotone, but perfectly serviceable.

Lockon can’t exactly complain, when he’s been sleeping on the softest patch of dirt he could find for a couple of years, now.

Setsuna leaves him at the door with Orange Haro and instructions to meet in the briefing room the next morning—Haro, apparently, will show him the way. And with that, he coasts down the corridor again, his face still carefully neutral.

Lockon wonders vaguely whether his brother was really that close to all these people, especially when he seemed incapable of becoming close to his own twin. He decides not to dwell on it, though—perhaps they’re all just the same brand of crazy—and punches in the code to his room, looking around as soon as he steps in.

Pretty standard—a low bed with sharply tucked sheets, a wall of closet space with no doors, and a small desk with a chair.

It’s what’s sitting on the desk that stops him short.

A haggard, brown teddy bear is positioned in the center of the desk—one he hasn’t seen in fifteen years but would recognize instantly—

_“Your sister was holding this…”_

He wonders sharply whether this is some kind of sick joke, because that bear was all but destroyed and this one is most definitely in one piece, even if perhaps the stitches that bind it together are uneven and ugly. Haro floats in behind him, beeping things that Lockon can’t focus on as he comes upon the bear and picks it up, inspecting it closely.

But no—it’s the same one, he’s sure of it, because—because there are still remnants of bloodstains on its back that refused to come out, and there are enough jagged stitches to prove that it had once been shredded to pieces. But there’s a tag on its ear that wasn’t there before, and a note on the desk—he picks up the scrap of paper first, glancing over its contents, and his eyes widen at what he sees:

_Lockon,_

_We found this among your brother’s belongings after he passed. I don’t know if it carries any significance for you, but Setsuna and Tieria said Amy was your younger sister, so I thought I’d leave it for you, just in case._

_Sumeragi_

He throws it down on his desk, reeling at the sheer ridiculousness of this as he turns over the hand-made tag wrapped around the bear’s tattered ear:

 

_To Amy_

_From Neil_

_I’m sorry I couldn’t save you_

That’s—that’s his brother’s handwriting, for sure, the same scratchy script he was forced to adopt after he never allowed his hands to fully heal—the one he read in all the letters he received that he never bothered to reply to.

Haro’s beeping is incessant, but it’s all white noise to him; he grips the bear a little tighter, looks into its mismatched eyes (the beady one it originally bore, and the button crudely stitched on in the other’s place), and wishes he could curse his brother. He wants to curse him for dying, for blaming himself for a terrorist attack he had no control over, for being too self-righteous to get the treatment for his hands that he needed…

He wants to rage at Neil Dylandy for being an awful brother, but he holds evidence to the contrary here in his shaking hands; and, after all, he sent Lyle regular letters and checks right up until—

Until he joined Celestial Being, to avenge the family he couldn’t save.

Lockon’s knees crumple beneath him as the tears finally spill over, and he hugs the bear tight to his chest; he mutters obscenities to the brother he hates-doesn’t hate- _I don’t know what to think anymore—_ he wants to hate Neil just as he has all these years, and the resentment is still simmering just below the surface—but the bear trapped between his trembling arms is proof enough that—that—

Neil stitched this bear back together inch by painstaking inch, with hands that had to relearn _everything_ because they healed at all the wrong angles. He put this bear back together for their little sister who died far too young, to remember and never allow himself to forget his supposed failure and all that he had lost—

Lockon— _Lyle_ —cannot bear to think on this after so many long years, but it is consuming him now, encircling his soul until he cannot escape—and so he sits on the floor of his pristine new quarters, clutches an old, worn stuffed bear to his chest like it’s the only thing holding the world together, and cries for the family that is now far beyond his reach.


End file.
